But why is it so difficult for them to understand and why do we have to keep explaining? My heart is weary.

photos by Paul Collins shot on a Hasselblad

there’s no place to stand and lean onto except my own to legs

some feathered rags making their way into the sanded realm

into the reminder of all that is excess

the weight of the ways to survive light as a feather

the sadder the eyes the harder the mind finds it to fight

and the remaining mess unsuccessfully unaddressed in the sighs outward

fear crept in at the initiation and then again at the very end

all the reasons transformed into survival of the worst kind

the suppressed mind with nowhere to go but forward

outrun ourselves through all the space necessary

and yet still no place to put all my feelings

how dare i even feel something to begin with

perhaps the lack of water was then turned into a lack of possible reflections

embedded in the river beds of a non-existing tomorrow

it’s all the very same day

loving with our deepest efforts to find what binds us again

but then the stem lends itself to be sought after and left

within the rainy part of a day that remains

stained on the ways to wrestle best

the afterlife of a thought uncovered while persisting

the trust of a seeming light

fighting through the days - the months - the years - the inevitable fear creeping in

with every mere reminder of the stifling life invading mine

the footsteps long walked over - trampled

yet still there - traces of power - all lining up to thrive again

-D.